


The Fine Art of Blowing Stuff Up

by AnInconvenientFrog



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Superheroes, Coran's like their weird uncle, Dyslexic Lance (Voltron), Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Fluff, Gay Keith, Hunk and Pidge are tech buds, Hunk is a sweetheart, Keith is a barista, Keith is a vigilante, Keith is so emo lol, Keith would date Mothman, Lance bedazzles everything, Lance is a fashion school dropout, Lance is a pyromaniac, Lance is a supervillain, Lance will flirt with literally anything, M/M, Matt is a meme, Nonbinary Pidge | Katie Holt, Slow Burn, They're both dense mf's, bi lance, coffeeshopAU, cursed child pidge, nonbinary pidge, romelle and keith are besties, salty child pidge, salty hunk, superheroAU, that's not the only thing that's burning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:40:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25002544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnInconvenientFrog/pseuds/AnInconvenientFrog
Summary: A Klance SuperheroAU but, like, also a CoffeeshopAU?Keith Kogane is a vigilante. Everyone insists on calling him a superhero, which irritates him, but he is simply a guy who doesn't trust the government and has a knack for throwing knives. He’s virtually broke and works part-time as a barista. Everything was going fine for him, until some idiot started blowing up a bunch of buildings.Lance McClain is a super evil supervillain who is wanted by the government. Okay, so he may not be quite there yet; but he is trying. He’s a fashion school dropout with a knack for blowing stuff up and a blue aesthetic. His minion and Keith’s ex-unpaid-intern, Pidge, would even go as far as to say that he is a ‘pyromaniac’ and ‘seriously needs to stop blowing everything up’. That, however, will not deter him; he will one day be added to the Definitive List of Altean Supervillains on Wikipedia! And maybe he’ll win over the heart of a cute barista along the way...
Relationships: Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Allura & Coran (Voltron), Allura/Romelle (Voltron), Coran & Lance (Voltron), Hunk & Lance (Voltron), Hunk & Pidge | Katie Holt, Keith & Romelle (Voltron), Keith & Shiro (Voltron), Keith/Lance (Voltron), Lance & Pidge | Katie Holt, Matt Holt & Pidge | Katie Holt
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	1. What will happen is fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
> :)  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> I am severely underqualified to write this, but this concept has been haunting me for months and I had to write it. I hope you guys enjoy it! Also, I would have posted this a lot sooner if I had been able to come up with a half-decent name lol
> 
> **Content warnings:** I don't think that there's anything in this chapter that needs a content warning, but if anyone finds any of the content triggering or uncomfortable, please let me know! You guys are important.  
> 

  
Lance McClain was not expecting an explosion. As he stood on the street, dumbfounded, he couldn’t help but stare. What little remained of the warehouse was engulfed in flames. Before he had time to process what he had done, a strong jab at his side had him doubling over, clutching his stomach. He groaned.

“You absolute moron!” Pidge’s small figure towered over Lance’s huddled body. Lance moaned, dramatically clutching his side. They rolled their eyes. “You’re _fine_. You won’t be, though, once the cops get you. I’ll ask you one more time: _what the fuck did you think you were doing_?”

Lance sighed, closing his eyes. “I just thought…” he trailed off.

Pidge snorted. “You? Thinking? Yeah, right. What the fuck did you expect to happen when you set fire to up a factory that produces _motor oil_? What, did you expect it to flood or something?”

Lance huffed. “I just wanted to see what would happen. How was I supposed to know it was going to blow up?! It’s not like anyone specifically told me _not_ to blow up an oil factory!”

“What will happen is fire, Lance.” Pidge’s expression was drawn into a tight frown. The flames reflected off of their glasses, but Lance knew that their eye was twitching. “Look, we’ll go over my slideshow on why arson does not solve everything again once we get back to the lair. For now, though, we need to leave before the cops catch us. I will, without hesitation, murder you if I get arrested because of your idiocracy.” Lance grumbled something about the motor oil industry, before Pidge’s glare cut him off. “Where’s Hunk? Isn’t he supposed to be here by now?”

The blaring of the horn of a rusty old van, skidding to a stop in front of them, answered Pidge's question. “Get in, guys!” Hunk hollered from behind the wheel. Pidge practically had to drag Lance into the van, muttering a string of curses directed at him as they did.

The faint sound of sirens approaching was enough to get Hunk to gun it before the door was even closed. Pidge was lecturing him as soon as they were both in the van. Okay, lecture was a bit of a stretch; before they could continue berating Lance. “—all you had to do was take the money and run! But what did you do?! YOU BLEW THE WHOLE GODDAMN PLACE UP BEFORE WE EVEN WENT INSIDE! We’re broke, Lance. We’re going to have to take money out of your bedazzling budget.”

At that, Lance gasped. “No! Pidge, you evil bird, _you wouldn’t_!”

“Fucking watch me,” they responded through gritted teeth.

“Hunk!” Lance pleaded.

“Sorry, buddy. I’m with Pidge on this one.” Lance’s dramatic gasp and cry of ‘betrayal’ was cut off by another jab from Pidge. “We need money. That’s why we turned to a life of crime in the first place, wasn’t it?” Lance was pensive and silent as the dark van weaved its way through back streets and alleys. Hunk had a point.

“...I’m sorry, guys,” he muttered, “you know how I get with fire…”

“We get it. You’re a pyromaniac. But control yourself for five minutes, yeah?” 

“Pidge, I will have you know that I am NOT a pyromaniac. I simply... have a flair for the dramatic.”

“And fire.”

“...That too, yes.”

The rest of the ride to their lair was full of Lance’s and Pidge’s bickering. Finally, Hunk pulled into their garage. And they all got out, weary and sick of each other. Lance made a beeline towards the bedroom, but only made it two steps before Pidge was clinging on to his leg. “Fuck, Pidge. Let go!” Lance tried to shake them off, but it was no use.

“Oh no. No. You are not getting out of this one, Lance. _We are doing the arson presentation_.” There was an evil glint reflecting off of their glasses that Lance knew all too well. Lance knew that there was nothing he could do.

He sighed, resigning to a fate of boring slideshows and Pidge lighting perfectly good saltines on fire.

* * *

It was 3 am and Keith was running solely on caffeine. After downing his fifth Red Bull, he looked over the bulletin board that consumed an entire wall of his tiny and messy studio apartment. It was full of newspaper clippings, photos, maps and his messy handwriting scrawled on scraps of paper; connected by strands of red string. At the centre of his board was a picture of a small, rat-like individual with big coke-bottle glasses.

Keith was staring at the large map of Altea City, running a gloved hand through his unruly hair. He looked at the pins on the map, a string of seemingly unconnected arsons. He knew who did them, he just needed to figure out how to confront them, to stop them before they could blow up something else. These arsons all had something in common, he just had to figure out what that something was. “Come on Keith, think,” he muttered aloud, too tired to care about how crazed he appeared. “What is the constant here?”

He looked over the different hits. A bank. A convenience store. A restaurant. A rubber factory. And most recently, a motor oil factory. One thing they all had in common was the fact that no one was injured. But that information alone was not enough to help him figure out the next hit. The hits all seemed to be in the Castle of Lions District, so that narrowed down the search. 

He went over his files on the buildings destroyed, searching for a unifying element. The Altean Bank, owned by the Galra Corporation. Galactic Convenience, a chain owned by the Galra Corporation. Keith’s already rapid pulse increased. The restaurant was owned by the Galra corporation. So was the rubber factory. Keith’s heart was lodged in his throat as he opened his file on the motor oil factory. The Balmera Motor Oil Company, owned by… SpaceWare & Co.?

Keith reread that section once. Twice. His heart sunk. “No…” he swallowed. “No, this isn’t right. This can’t be a coincidence. It can’t be!” He threw the file in frustration. He had been tracking this arsonist for _months_ , he was so close to cracking the code.

He sunk to the ground, leaning his head against the wall. There had to be something he was missing. He took a few deep breaths and another sip of his Red Bull, which did nothing to stop his jittering. Perhaps there was something there after all… 

He took out his phone and searched for SpaceWare & Co. It was owned by a company named Space Tech and Other Cool Gadgets. He sighed. Well, it was worth a shot. Unless…

He held his breath, praying to a god he didn’t believe in that he was right. He searched for Space Tech and Other Cool Gadgets on his VPN. What it sold was pretty self-explanatory, but that wasn’t what he was looking for. He looked through some old articles, until he found one dated a few years back. Bingo. The article read ‘Galra Industries buys Space Tech giant, Space Tech and Other Cool Gadgets’.

“So that’s your game…” he muttered, “you’re after Galra Industries.” He looked at his map of the city. Right on the outskirts of the Castle of Lions District lay a Galra Industries branch. “I’ll find you, Pidge Holt.”

. . .

The attacks always, without fail, happened on Tuesdays. The weeks between each attack varied, but they always took place on Tuesdays. Keith took Tuesdays off work and for three weeks, he staked-out on top of a building across from the Galra branch. Binoculars in hand, cloak over his head and mask over his eyes, he watched and waited as... nothing happened. Anyone who knew Keith knew that he was not patient. For revenge, though, he could wait. 

It was the fourth Tuesday in a row, however, and he was growing frustrated. There had been no recent attacks, and Galra Industries was his biggest, and only, lead. It was 1 am, though, and Keith was losing hope. On top of being tired, stiff and uncomfortable, he had eaten all of his snacks and was bored out of his mind.

He was about to call it a day, when a black van chugged its way through a red light, turning down a nearby alleyway. Keith decided to investigate. In his time as a vigilante, he had gotten better at parkour. He grabbed his snack sack and leaped across the tall buildings. He arrived at a ledge in front of the alley in time to see two figures exit the van, bickering loudly. He dashed down a fire escape, landing softly on the other side of the van. 

He recognized one of the voices. “—for the last time, wait until we’ve robbed the damn place before you blow it up! Do you understand me?” 

Keith grinned. “Found you, Pidge,” he whispered.

“Yes, Pidge, I understand!” Keith didn’t recognize the second voice. “I already told you that I would wait! Would you trust me for once?”

“No, I don’t trust you! Because the last time I did, you blew up the whole factory before we could take anything from it! You put us in danger because of your non-existent impulse control!” The two continued to bicker. Keith took that time to creep around the dilapidated van. He pulled his hood over his face, blocking the exit. The van was parked in front of a dead-end and Keith had the idiots cornered. He reached for a knife and threw it at the wall between Pidge and their associate. That got their attention.

Pidge’s head immediately whipped around to face Keith, but their partner didn’t seem to have the same survival instincts. He was around Keith’s height and was wearing a cape covered in… sequins? He immediately whipped his head around to the wall and gasped. He tugged on Pidge’s sleeve, flailing his arms. “Pidge! Look! There’s a knife!”

“You moron,” Pidge hissed through gritted teeth, never averting their gaze from Keith, “where do you think the knife came from?” 

At that, Pidge’s partner noticed Pidge’s gaze and turned to face Keith. Though he was wearing a mask, his eyes bored straight into Keith’s soul, narrowing at the sight of him. “That,” he started, eyes roaming over Keith’s cloaked body, “was not very knife of you.”

Pidge let out an exasperated sigh, facepalming. Keith had no idea how to respond to that. “Uh, yeah.” He removed his hood. “That’s the point.”

Pidge’s partner let out an audible gasp. “I’d recognize that mullet anywhere! It’s you! My arch-nemesis, my greatest rival, the Red Paladin!”

Keith squinted at him. He did seem kind of familiar… “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

Sputtering, the taller of the two threw up their arms in frustration, waving them around like a mad-man. “It’s me! Lance? Lance Mcclain?” He blinked at Keith, who tilted his head. “Uh, I blew up your bike? Bedazzled your cloak? Does any of that ring a bell?” 

_Oh._ So it was _that_ idiot. Keith decided to mess with him. “No, I don’t recall. I guess you didn’t leave an impression.” He shrugged.

Lance stood there, mouth agape, trying to formulate some sort of insult. “Well— well, I stole Pidge from you, Mullet!” Lance was holding Pidge by their shoulders. He yelped when Pidge bit him, dropping them.

Pidge waved. “Hey Keith.”

“You stole my intern? What the fuck, Lance?”

Lance gasped, covering Pidge’s ears. “You didn’t pay the poor thing! If you’re going to call them your intern, make sure to put unpaid in front of it, _Keith_!”

Keith turned their attention to Pidge. “What the heck, Pidge?” He tried to remove all traces of hurt from his voice, but that was something he had never been any good at. “I thought we were friends? You left me for this loser and revealed my identity to him?”

Lance grinned. “I know your identity now, Keithy-boy!” Keith glared at the glitter-covered moron in the corner.

“Sorry dude, it’s nothing personal. Lance actually pays me and he enables me to build stupid shit. Also, I have, like, no morals.”

Lance nodded. “Pidge speaks nothing but the truth. They’re my minion! Plus, I actually pay them.”

“I’m literally broke, guys.”

“And I’m a super evil villain. We all have our thing.” Lance winked at Keith, an obnoxious grin spreading on his face. “They call me The Tailor, you know. That’s because I thread the needle.” He looked around at the unimpressed stares, grinning from ear-to-ear. “Also, I went to fashion school for like three years, so—”

Pidge interrupted his monologue. “No one calls you that.”

“Yeah, I’m not calling you that.”

“Oh?” Lance closed the distance between him and Keith, lifting Keith’s chin with a soft hand. To Keith’s dismay, Lance was a few inches taller than him. “And what would you rather call me, hmm? Would you prefer to call me ‘yours’?”

Keith was flustered for a moment, before he remembered what he was here to do the array of knives that lined his cloak. In one, swift motion, the knife that was in his belt only seconds before was centimeters away from Lance’s neck, who Keith had pinned against the wall. Lance’s eyes, which Keith could now see were a murky shade of dark blue, widened. “Kinky.”

Keith groaned in frustration. “I could slit your throat at any second— could you, like, _not_ for a minute?”

Lance batted his eyes. “Not what, dear?”

“Stop— stop flirting with me!” Keith was grateful for the cover of the night, as he was flustered and his cheeks were growing warm. 

Lance’s laugh was loud and unattractive. “I flirt with everyone, darling. Don’t take it personally.” His eyes flickered to the small, downward quirk of Keith’s lips. “Unless, that is—” Lance leaned as close as he dared, considering there was a knife at his throat. “You want to.”

Keith couldn’t think of anything to say. He felt a strange, fluttering sensation in his stomach and a warmth spreading across his body. What was this feeling? Was it… hatred? Keith decided that it must be an intense dislike for Lance. 

“Get a room, losers! No one wants to see that!” Keith glared at Pidge, who muttered ‘that’s nasty’ under their breath.

“No, that’s not— that’s not what’s happening here.”

Something flickered in Lance’s eyes, disappearing just as quickly as it had appeared, pipping in with: “Yeah, I fucking hate Keith!”

Keith couldn’t help but feel a little hurt. “Well, the feeling’s mutual.”

Lance sputtered out something that sounded like ‘fine’.

“So, Keith, is there anything you want from us? Or did you just feel like throwing knives at us?”

“Oh yeah.” Keith had forgotten what he was here to do. “I, uh, tracked you down.”

“Why?”

“Because I knew you were behind the fires, and I wanted to stop you?”

“For your information,” Lance pipped in, “those fires are the fruits of _my_ labour. And how did you know we were coming here?” Lance’s eyes narrowed at Keith. “Did you spy on us?”

“I’ve been keeping track of the arsons for months. They all seemed to be unconnected, but I knew Pidge had something to do with them. I cracked your code, McClain. I have you all figured out. I know that you're targeting buildings in the Castle of Lions District owned by Galra Industries.” Pidge actually had the audacity to laugh. “What?” Keith demanded.

“You think there's a method to our madness? We rob whichever building we deem to be ugly enough and then Lance always ends up blowing it up. The Galra thing is a coincidence. They own basically everything.”

Keith blinked. “I spent so long trying to figure out some sort of pattern… Are you telling me that you guys just blow up whatever the fuck you want? That I spent countless hours pouring over your every move, driving myself insane trying to figure out what on Earth was going on in your minds. You're telling me that there was no pattern? You blow up whatever the fuck you want for no apparent reason?”

“Pretty much, lol.”

“Aw, Keith, I didn’t know you cared about me so much,” Lance purred.

Keith glared at him. “I don’t. You are an added annoyance that I didn’t realize existed until a few minutes ago.”

“So be it, Mullet,” Lance huffed. “How do you intend on stopping us from blowing up this building, anyways? And why do you even care?”

“I don’t need to explain myself to you. And, uh, I figured that you guys would just, like, not blow stuff up if I asked you to?”

“Sorry, no can do, Mullet. We need money and I’m lowkey a pyromaniac, so…”

“Oh. Well, I guess I’ll just pull the fire alarm.” 

Lance narrowed his eyes at Keith. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, but you underestimate me. I most certainly would.”

“But, like, why are you doing this? I need to be able to support my bedazzling budget somehow. How about I buy you dinner and we call it even?”

“Are you… bribing me with a date?”

Lance winked at him. “Most would kill to be this lucky.” Pidge gagged. “Shut up, Pidge!” Lance glared at them.

“Tempting,” Keith deadpanned. “But I think I’ll just pull the fire alarm.” And so he did. Without so much as a goodbye, leaving a pissed Pidge and a stunned Lance in his wake, he disappeared into the night.

“Bitch,” Lance muttered.

* * *

Hunk always made sure Pidge and Lance ate healthy, balanced meals. He loved to cook and bake for them, and Lance and Pidge were more than happy to oblige. They honestly would not have survived for this long if it weren’t for Hunk. So it was on the fifth day of Hunk’s departure when Lance realized they were fucked.

Hunk had left for a few weeks to visit his family, leaving behind an empty kitchen and his two useless friends. He had left a week’s worth of meals behind. Pidge and Lance had managed to finish them in two days flat. They spent the third and fourth days consuming more junk food than one could think was possible. It was on the fifth morning that Lance realized that he needed some nutrients. It was the morning after his encounter with Keith, and as Lance watched Pidge guzzle an ungodly amount of energy drinks, he knew that he would die if he didn’t get something remotely healthy in his body. Also, he didn’t know how to operate the coffee machine. He went to fashion school, not the barista academy (Pidge insists it doesn’t exist, but what do they know?).

Lance dragged himself to the nearest coffee shop, a run-down looking building on a side street a block away from their lair. He never had to resort to shelving off five bucks for coffee; Hunk had always made it for him. Back at the lair, though, the only source of accessible caffeine was one of Pidge’s energy drinks, but those things were nasty. Also, the last time he tried to take one, Pidge went feral on him. With that in mind, Lance decided that he needed to go to an actual coffee shop.

. . .

Keith worked at a ramshackle coffee shop that was perpetually empty. He didn’t mind, so long as he got paid. On this particular morning, he was working on some poorly-drawn mothman latte art while singing an off-key version of the song [‘Parents’, by Yungblood](https://youtu.be/vUKLiC_5MwQ), despite not having any. He was so immersed in his work that he failed to notice a customer drag himself into the shop. He was only alerted by his presence when the customer exclaimed, “He held a gun to your head?? You did WHAT to your best friend?!” Keith jumped at that, almost spilling his coffee. Embarrassed, he made his way to the counter, avoiding eye contact with the customer and ignoring the heat creeping up his neck. The customer grinned at him. “Nice singing.”

Keith’s blush somehow got deeper as he shifted nervously, still too embarrassed to meet the stranger’s eyes. “Sorry about that, we don’t usually get many customers…” 

The customer winked at him, though Keith was too ashamed to notice. “Don’t worry about it, darling.”

Keith could not get any redder. As he looked up to ask the customer about his order, his mouth went dry. He recognized that voice, those eyes, that infuriating smirk. _Lance_. All colour drained from his face. He was hyper-aware of his name tag that gave him away, of Lance’s unfaltering gaze and obnoxious smirk. Cursing Pidge for revealing his identity, he cleared his throat, but his voice wavered nonetheless. “Um, what can I get for you?”

“How about your number? uh…” Lance squinted at Keith’s name tag, which was written in a serif font and was but a jumble of letters to Lance’s dyslexic mind. “Ke… Kehit?” Keith stared at Lance incredulously. Did Lance seriously not recognize him?

He sighed and decided that correcting him wasn’t worth the trouble. “Yup. That's me. Kehit.” 

That was a good move on Keith’s part, as Lance had recognized Keith’s lips and voice. However, as Keith’s hair was up in a ponytail, Lance was thrown off. Despite recognizing some of Keith’s features, to Lance, Keith’s mullet was his main identifiable trait. The fact that Keith’s could put his hair up in a ponytail had never crossed Lance’s mind; thus this cute barista could not possibly be his worst enemy. While Lance might have been on the fence about whether or not this pretty barista was in fact Keith, him being named ‘Kehit’ was the final nail in the coffin, solidifying, in Lance’s mind, that Keith and Kehit were two entirely different people.

“Also,” Keith added, “we only sell coffee here, not numbers.” Lance stared at him disbelievingly. 

“Just shooting my shot,” he mumbled. “I’ll have your sugariest drink infused with five shots of espresso, please.”

Keith squinted at him. “Aren’t you a wanted criminal?”

At that, Lance perked up. “Depends who’s asking.”

“I’m asking. Kehit. I am Kehit.” Keith wanted to die. What the fuck was he saying?

Lance gave the cute barista a slightly concerned look, which morphed into a small smile at the slight blush on Kehit’s cheeks. “Many want me. I just happen to be a criminal.” Lance shrugged, resting his forearms on the counter, leaning towards the barista. “Let me ask you this; do you want me, Kehit?”

Keith was paid too little for this. “I want to know if you’re paying with cash or debit. We don’t accept credit.”

Lance had been rejected many times in his life. With Kehit, however, he genuinely could not tell if he was being rejected, or if Kehit just didn’t realize Lance was flirting with him. He had never met anyone so dense in his life. “Um, cash is fine.”

“Cool. And is the atrocity that you ordered for here or to go?”

“Here, with you.” Lance winked again.

Keith rolled his eyes. “That’ll be $7.25.”

Lance gasped. “Those prices are _criminal_!”

“You ordered 5 shots of espresso and our sugariest drink, Lance,” Keith deadpanned.

Lance muttered something about the coffee industry as he pulled out a bar stool. As the barista turned around to make the abomination that Lance ordered, Lance couldn’t help but stare. Keith (‘Kehit’, to Lance’s mind) was wearing a black choker which went well with, well, everything that he was wearing. It matched his black MCR shirt, the black and white striped long-sleeve shirt he sported underneath it, his black fingerless gloves, black nail polish, black piercings, black cargo pants with chains dangling from his belt, his well-worn black combat boots, his black eyeliner (which was on point) and— well, you get the idea. ‘ _I have stumbled across an emo in the wild,_ ’ Lance mused.

Despite the substantial dent in his wallet this expedition had made, Lance sensed that had done a good thing. Not only had he bought himself something enormously healthier than anything they had back at the lair (the veggies rotting in the back of the fridge begged to differ), he was supporting a struggling business and befriended the unlovable and, presumably lonely, local emo who worked there. ‘ _I am a pyromaniac making a difference,_ ’ he thought.

It took a tap on the shoulder by Keith for Lance to realize his coffee was ready and in front of him. He looked down to see an intricate design on his drink. He squinted at it. “Wow. It’s very... abstract.” He looked up to see Keith frowning. “It has a lot of raw... emotions?”

Keith’s frown only grew. “Is it that bad?” He sighed.

“No?” Lance responded hesitantly. “Was it supposed to be… something?”

“It was supposed to be Mothman.”

“The fuck is that?”

Keith frowned at Lance, rolling up his sleeve to reveal a tattoo on his arm and shoving his forearm in front of Lance’s face. “Haven’t you heard? Mothman and I are kind of a thing, you know.”

Lance stared incredulously at the behemoth on the barista’s arm, and then up at Keith’s ever-stoic expression. “You’re dating… a moth?”

“Mothman is _not_ just a moth, you uncultured swine.” Keith rolled down his sleeve, rolling his eyes as if it were common knowledge. “And we’re dating, he just doesn’t know it yet.”

Okay, so Lance had to admit that the barista was kind of cute. He was also, however, fucking insane. “And have you ever met this… this man-moth?”

“Well… no. But I do go out in the woods every fortnight and serenade him with my ukulele skills and angelic singing voice.”

Lance snorted, knowing full well the extent of Kehit’s singing abilities. He wasn’t about to serenade anyone with that voice. “No wonder you have no friends,” he muttered.

“What was that?” Keith glared at Lance.

“Nothing, love.” Lance flashed him his grin which he knew to be irresistible.

Impossibly, Keith seemed to be unaffected. He frowned at him, his stormy eyes turning dark and dangerous, leaning towards Lance, hands slamming down on the counter. “No, I heard you, _love_. I will have you know that I have plenty of friends.” He threw up his hands. “You don’t even know me! How could you possibly know that I cry myself to sleep every night because of the gaping hole in my heart and the loneliness that constantly gnaws at my very existence, hoping that one day Mothman will swoop in and fill that void?” Lance stared at him, trying to process that huge info dump and the massive amount of personal information that he was privy to. Keith shook his head, closing his eyes and walking away. “Non-believers, man,” he muttered.

Lance was now fairly certain that Kehit was insane. He took a sip of the horrible drink in front of him. It was after that interaction that Lance decided to take money out of his glitter glue budget and use it for coffee.

Lance decided that he liked Kehit.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> Tbh I kind of forgot about the Voltron Fandom after season 8. My girl Allura was _robbed_. The fandom was hella toxic, but I think things have cooled down now and it seems to be pretty chill. I don't know about you guys, but I have been consuming a massive amount of fanfiction during this quarantine. 
> 
> I hope you guys liked this first chapter! I'm kind of new at this, so if anyone has any suggestions please feel free to share! (please)  
> 


	2. I'll show you art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
> In which two idiots battle it out.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> Greetings, my lovely readers! 
> 
> holy shit. People are actually reading this?? Thank you? I literally love you guys
> 
> Writing is hard. Who woulda thought? I wrote the first chapter in three days flat. How did this one take me a month?? Bear with me guys, I work in spontaneous bursts of energy. 
> 
> I have no idea where this story is headed, so y’all are going to be just as surprised as I am.  
> 

  
Keith was tired and groggy. The previous day had gone by in a blur and he was running on pure adrenaline and spite, not having had a good night’s sleep in well over a week. He was still trying to process everything that had conspired in the past few days, when the door to the quiet shop slammed open. A tall, lanky figure strolled up to the counter. It took Keith and his bleary eyes a solid few seconds to realize that that figure was none other than Lance. “Fuck,” muttered Keith.

Lance beamed at him, his smile too fucking bright for this godforsaken hour. “Morning to you too, sunshine.”

Keith just squinted at him. “You’re one of those freaks who don’t get tired in the morning, aren’t you?”

Lance chuckled. “You’re cute, you know that? How are things going with you and your man-moth?”

It all came rushing back to him. “ _Fuck_.” Had he really spilled his heart out to Lance-fucking-McClain yesterday? He was not in the mood to deal with this. He turned around, made his way to the fridge, and poured himself a large glass of milk. He downed the entire glass.

“Oi!” Lance exclaimed, “Who the fuck drinks straight-up milk? Calm down, Edgelord.”

“I’m lactose intolerant,” explained Keith.

“So was that like soy milk or something?”

“No.” Keith offered no further explanation. He secretly wished the lactose would kill him, but it only ever gave him bad indigestion.

Lance blinked. “Everything good, bud?”

Keith was so ready to just drop off the face of the Earth. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, thanks for asking, Lance. Everything is just fucking _peachy_.” Keith seemed to have forgotten that he was working and was supposed to be serving Lance, because he went to the fridge and poured himself yet another glass of milk. Back when Pidge worked with him, they would drink milk just to spite him and because they could. ‘ _Fuck Pidge. Fuck Lance too, if you’re at it_ ,’ thought Keith groggily, pouring the milk into his half-full cup of water, topping it off with some heavy cream. “I’m going to fucking die,” he muttered.

Lance frowned at the barista. At this point, he was sufficiently concerned. “Um, Kehit? I know we met, like, yesterday, but you look like shit.”

Keith glared at Lance, taking a long sip of whatever the fuck it was he was drinking. “Fuck you, bitch.”

“That’s not what I meant— holy shit, you’re actually drinking that?!”

“You’re one to talk, Mr. ‘I’ll have your sugariest drink infused with like ten shots of caffeine and all of your glitter’.”

Lance jabbed a finger at Keith. “I’ll have you know that I have only consumed glitter on a few occasions! My radiologist says that my intestines are the shiniest she has ever seen.” Keith swore he saw Lance sparkle slightly. Freak.

Keith was about to come up with a not-so witty retort, when he stumbled forwards into the counter. “Ow,” he muttered, dazed.

“Uh, Kehit?” Lance placed a hand on his shoulder, steadying him. “Are you— are you alright?”

“M’fine, m’fine.” Keith shoved Lance’s hand off of him, causing him to sway to the side. “Go away, sparkly bitch.”

Lance was slightly hurt. “Um, okay? You don’t look very good, though. Maybe you should take a break from work?”

“I’m fine.” Keith was not, in fact, fine. He was severely sleep-deprived and had just drunk something that, unbeknownst to him, would later cause him to throw up. He was also in the presence of Lance and was feeling whatever it was you felt when you were near someone you hated.

“Whatever you say, moth-lover. I’ll just have a mocha with extra whipped cream.”

Keith raised an eyebrow. “I take it you didn’t like the ‘beverage’ you ordered yesterday?”

“Not particularly, no,” Lance mused.

Keith squinted at him. “Why the fuck would you come back here? What you ordered was barely potable.”

Lance shrugged again, eyes wandering to the chalkboard covered in small doodles. “I guess I’m a sucker for poorly drawn Mothman fanart and cute baristas.”

“Never disrespect my art like that again, glitter boy.” Keith frowned at Lance, trying to suppress a small smile. He refused to smile at this moron.

Lance gave him a once-over, grinning in that unbearably smug way of his. “You call that art, sweetheart?” He leaned towards an unamused Keith, his voice low. “ _I’ll_ show you art.”

Keith hated the small blush that crept up his face. Despite everything, he was still irrefutably gay and severely starved of any forms of affection.

Lance turned around to search through his tasselled satchel and brought out a hat. _A hat?_ This was not at all what Keith was expecting. It was a pink bucket hat covered in neon paint, embroidered flowers and glitter; Keith’s eyes hurt just looking at it. To Keith’s utter horror, Lance stuck it on his head and began posing, framing his face like he was on the cover of Wogue. The man had the _audacity_ to wink at Keith. 

Keith scoffed, concentrating on Lance’s order. “That hat looks like it was regurgitated by a pride parade.”

“Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

Lance gasped, acting overly offended. “Well you’re a— a—” Jabbing an accusatory finger at Keith, Lance sputtered, trying to come up with a comeback.

Keith tilted his head, amused. “Go on.”

“ _You’re_ a compliment!”

Keith frowned. “It’s that obvious, huh?”

“Yes!” Said a self-satisfied Lance.

Keith was in a losing battle with his smile. He turned away, so as to not give himself away. He had an emo reputation to maintain, after all. He slid Lance’s drink towards him. “That doesn’t even make sense, genius.”

* * *

Lance was by no means a morning person. He didn’t enjoy waking up early, nor did the idea of functioning before noon appeal to him in the least. Kehit, however, made mornings something Lance began to look forward to. Energy and confidence he didn’t even know he had in him at such a blasphemous hour were renewed whenever he saw the disconcerted barista. Kehit was, admittedly, rather odd. Lance didn’t quite know what it was, but there was something about Kehit that was so familiar and enticing.

It was a Tuesday. Lance had been visiting Kehit every day for just under a week now, and today was no different. Lance got up at eight a.m., like a fucking weirdo, spent perhaps too long choosing an outfit, and left to make his way to the coffee shop. He passed a bleary looking Pidge on his way out, not sure if they just got up or stayed up all night. It was impossible to tell with them, they quaffed energy drinks at all hours of the day.

At the sound of Lance’s footsteps, they looked up from their blanket fort, looking like a disgruntled mole-rat. “The fuck is so special about that coffee shop? You’ve been waking up early for the past week— that coffee better is really fucking good if you’re wasting so much of our small budget on it.”

Lance gulped, knowing just how horrible the coffee was. “They have very good… customer service.”

Pidge’s glare could probably kill a small rodent. “You useless bisexual.”

Lance blinked. “Should I be insulted?”

Pidge muttered something about romance; Lance could have sworn he heard a few ‘bah humbugs’ tossed into the mix. He decided it was best to make a run for it. Pidge, while terrifying, looked like they would pass out if they stood up too fast. 

He was out of breath by the time he arrived outside of the dinky building. After a minute or so of catching his breath, he composed himself and strolled into the shop, looking forward to Kehit’s inevitable frown. It was to his shock and utter dismay when he was greeted with a surprised and British: “Oh! A customer!”

Lance, shocked, examined the pretty blonde manning the cash. She beamed at him. “Hi! I’m Romelle! What can I do for you today?”

Lance was still reeling in surprise. While Romelle was definitely his type, she wasn’t Kehit. He supposed the barista had to take a day or two off work. Lance ignored his disappointment and flashed her an easy grin. “I’ll have a mocha with extra whipped cream, if that’s alright with you.”

“Of course! It’ll be ready in just a few minutes.”

Lance took a seat in the empty shop. He had grown accustomed to visiting Kehit. What was he to do with himself now?

. . .

Kehit took off work this Tuesday, like the four before it, in search of Lance and Pidge. As he was squinting at his board, he realized he had no idea how to track them. He sighed. How the fuck was he supposed to find them now?

As he flopped onto his back, staring at his ceiling, Lance’s unbearable face came to mind. Fuck. He had the perfect way to track them; he could have followed Lance from the coffee shop. He groaned. Why was he so fucking stupid? There was a reason he hadn’t done anything when he first encountered Lance at the shop. 

No one ever called Keith, and he didn’t mind in the least. Keith hated many things, and talking on the phone happened to be one of them. It took him a moment to realize that the buzzing noise was someone calling him. Not only were they calling him, but they were calling the burner phone he used as the Red Paladin. He swallowed, eyeing the unknown number. If it had been to his cell, he would have ignored it. He even ignored calls from people he knew. But only a select few people knew this number.

“This is the Red Paladin, how can I help you?” Gods, he sounded so lame.

An excited voice responded, a little too loudly. “Did ya miss me, Keithy-boy?”

Keith froze. Lance? Why was Lance calling him? Did he know that he was Kehit? Fuck. _Fuck_. Keith’s freakout was interrupted by Lance. “You still there, nemesis of mine?”

Keith groaned. No, this idiot couldn’t have figured it out. “What do you want, Lance?”

“That’s Tailor to you, bitch boy.”

Keith despised talking on the phone. “Get on with it, will you? Also, how the fuck did you get this number?”

He could hear the smugness in Lance’s voice. The man needed to be humbled. “My minion Pidge supplied me with your number,” Keith swore. Pidge had changed their number after they left, why hadn’t he? Lance continued to ramble on. “Anyways, I had a lot of fun last week. Things were getting boring, anyways. Since _someone_ stopped us from committing arson last week and I’m getting bored, not to mention broke, I’ve decided to give you a heads up. I want a rematch, Mullet.”

Keith frowned. “Why the fuck are you telling me this? What are you gaining from this? What’s the catch?”

He heard Lance chuckle from the other end of the fun. “You’re no fun, are you? I’ll get to it, then.”

“ _I’m fun_ ,” Keith muttered, more to himself than Lance. Lance didn’t seem to have heard him as he continued his monologue.

“I’m glad you asked! I’m feeling very explosion-esque today. But it’s more than that; I actually kind of liked finally fighting a superhero.”

“Vigilante,” Keith corrected.

“Whatever. It looks great on my Wikipedia page, so I figured the little thing that we have going on could be good for my career.” Keith sighed. “I’ll text you the coordinates to my next target tonight, but only on a few conditions.” Lance paused dramatically. 

“What?” Keith was so done with Lance.

“The first condition is that you don’t pull any funny tricks like you did the last time. No authorities, no fire alarms. Let’s try to make this fair, alright?”

“Fine.”

“Excellent! The next condition is that we battle this out, because I think that would be cool." There was a pause on the other end of the line. "And, uh, yeah. That’s it”

“How do you know that I'll respect those terms?”

“I don’t. But let it be known that you will be forever considered a wuss by both Pidge and I if you don’t.” 

Despite how fucking stupid Lance’s plan and reasoning was, Keith agreed. “Fair enough. So long as no civilians get hurt.”

“Have you seen my track record? Hurting people’s not my jam. So I’ll see you there?”

“Sure.”

“Great! It’s a date, then!”

Keith sputtered, making it perfectly clear that it was most certainly _not_ a date. No, because Keith would never, in a million years, go on a date with Lance McClain. Unfortunately, Lance had already ended the call by the time that Keith got his point across. 

Keith was still kind of shocked about how easy it was to find them. It all worked out, he supposed...

. . .

Lance’s solution to anything was fire. So to cheer him up from his disappointment, he decided that an extravagant explosion and a daring fight would be just the fix. Pidge was pissed when Lance revealed to them his plan.

“What the fuck, moron? Why would you tell Keith where you’re going?”

Lance chuckled. “Oh, Pidgeon. No need to be so angry with me, I’m not _that_ stupid. Don’t worry your little head, for I have a plan.”

Pidge eyed him incredulously. “I don’t trust your plan.”

“Hey, my plans are not _always_ underdeveloped and downright disastrous!” Pidge snorted. “I’ll choose to ignore your condescending snort. _Anyways_ , here’s what I have planned,” Lance paused dramatically, unrolling a long scroll covered in surprisingly well-done doodles of him, Keith and Pidge.

Pidge squinted at it, trying to make sense of whatever it was Lance was trying to get across. They punched Lance. “Hey!” he protested, “What was that for?”

“Why’d you give me fangs?”

“Because you’re always biting people.”

Pidge considered this. “Fair enough. Care to explain what the fuck your ‘brilliant’ plan is?”

“Aw, are the pictures too complicated for the little gremlin?”

“I’m sure an infant could come up with a clearer plan.”

“Haters gonna hate. “ Lance shrugged. “I’ll explain it to you since my intellect is clearly superior.” Pidge looked as if they were about to bite him, so he decided now was probably a good time to get into the plan. He explained how he was going to give Keith coordinates to a building a few blocks away from their actual target. That way, they could rob and blow up the place, fighting Keith after. Once Lance was done explaining his overly-complicated diagrams, Pidge blinked.

“That’s… actually not a bad idea. Your whole thing with Keith is still stupid, but this might actually work!”

Lance grinned smugly, a crazed look in his eyes. “Imma blow some stuff up.”

“How, exactly, do you plan on beating Keith?”

Lance shrugged. “I’ll seduce him, maybe? Or maybe I’ll challenge him to a dance battle? I’m not quite sure yet. I’ll work out the details later.”

Pidge sighed. “I’m not surprised. Fortunately for you, Hunk and I have been working on some cool gadgets that you can use.” Their glasses glinted dangerously. “This is going to be fun.”

. . .

Keith was lost. He was really fucking lost. For whatever stupid reason, Lance had texted him numerical coordinates. Keith, being the paranoid little guy that he was, didn’t trust the internet and thus was using an archaic paper map. That had been a bad decision: who knew which way was North? Keith most certainly did not. 

After passing the same unfamiliar building for the sixth time, Keith gave in. Swallowing his pride, he called the most recent number on his burner phone.

Lance picked up on the second ring. “Keith! Where are you? What the fuck? It’s been an hour! What, are you too afraid—”

“ _Lance_ ,” gritted an aggravated Keith, “do us all a favour and shut up.

“It’s only you and I, sweetheart.”

Keith was not having it. “Why the fuck would you send me coordinates?”

“I’ll have you know that coordinates are the standard in the criminal community!”

“Yeah, well, I’m fucking lost and they’re no help.”

“Keith, my guy, my dude, just Joogle Maps that shit.”

“... I don’t have data. Plus, I don’t trust Joogle.”

Keith heard Lance sigh. “Don’t tell me you’re using a paper map.”

There was a moment of silence. “I’m using a paper map.”

“Holy shit, that’s stupid. Well, this certainly complicates things. Still up for a fight?”

“How could I turn down a chance to beat you up?”

“Damn Keith, tell me how you really feel.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I have a few choice words reserved for you when you finally decide to confront me.”

“Hey, you’re the one who got lost! Don’t turn this around on me.” Keith was silent. Lance wasn’t wrong. “Do I need to find you?”

Keith was silent for a moment longer. Eventually, he responded with a small and resigned, “Yes.”

Lance sighed. “Where are you?”

“Fuck if I know.”

“Can you tell me anything about your location?”

“There’s a lot of buildings.”

“Oh, well okay then. I know exactly where to find you!”

“Really?” Keith was impressed.

“No.” Keith was not so impressed. “No, Keith, I have no idea where you are. You’re going to have to be a little more specific here for this to work, ‘kay?”

“Geez, yeah,” Keith grumbled. 

“Well aren’t you just a ray of sunshine?”

“Sod off.”

“British, are we now?” Keith flushed. He wasn’t British, he just spent a lot of time with Romelle.

“Whatever. I just need you to find me, because I’m so fucking lost.”

“Tell me about your location.”

“Um, well, there’s a lot of warehouses. It's pretty sketch. A guy tried to sell me used underwear and another guy emerged from a sewer grate. Oh, and there’s a shipping dock.”

“Hmm. I will need to briefly confer with my minion. Please enjoy our complimentary music while you wait.” The music was a dial tone and the brief conference went on for a long time. Keith fiddled with his knives, getting more and more anxious. He really didn’t want to be stuck here.

He sighed, leaning against his bike. It had been fifteen minutes since he had spoken to Lance and it was really fucking dark. Why the fuck had he gone along with this? At this point, he figured waiting was futile. As he was about to start the ignition, he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder. Or rather, he felt nothing in his shoulder. It was numb. Keith hissed, wondering what the fuck just happened.

A burst of flame told him everything he needed to know. He eyed the alleyway with the burning trash can (which smelt appalling), to see a tall and lanky figure to emerge. Lace was decked out in a shimmering blue suit that left little to the imagination, cobalt cape billowing behind him. The firelight danced across his dark skin, highlighting the curve of his lips and the hint madness in his eyes. Oh, and he had a goddamn blaster slung casually over his shoulder. “Miss me, Keithy-boy?” he lilted, sporting that insufferably smug grin of his.

Keith glared at him, sporting an unamused frown. “The fuck did you just do to my arm, McClain?”

Lance chuckled. “You’re no fun, are you?” Keith’s frown just deepened. “Have I ever told you,” Lance purred, “that that little pout of yours is absolutely _adorable_?” Keith clenched his jaw. Lance was going to ramble on forever. He desperately wanted to shut him up, but maybe he could use this to his advantage. The gears in his mind were turning, a plan formulating. The gears in Lance’s brain, however, were just really fucking horny. “It’s enough to make someone commit arson.”

“My arm, Lance?”

“Oh! Yes, yes of course. Sorry,” Lance sent Keith what was, in his mind, a dashing grin. “I tend to get a little carried away sometimes. This,” he said, brandishing the hunk of glowing metal fondly, “is a little something Pidge and Hunk conjured. I found that I was severely ill-prepared to face you on our last encounter, so I decided to make things a little more,” he paused, aiming the blaster at Keith, “ _exciting_.” Keith tensed, ready to dodge Lance’s attack. Lance just laughed, blaster slinging his blaster over his shoulder again. “This beauty has 14 settings, each with their own little quirk. I call her Brenda. We got the fast blast, big boom, Elsa’s breath…” Lance rambled on, naming off different settings that he clearly made up himself and meant nothing to Keith. “... and finally, there’s what I like to call the _Tingle Tangle_. It’ll wear off eventually. That’s what I hit you with. I like fighting with you, Keith, I really do. I don’t want to cause any harm to you,” Lance’s expression shifted, a cold, hard look in his eyes. The sudden shift sent a shiver down Keith’s spine. “So don’t make me.” The light came back to his eyes as quickly as it left, the warmth of his personality and obnoxious smile returning in full force. The polarity of Lance frightened Keith.

“Where’s Pidge? Aren’t they your ‘ _minion_ ’ or something?”

“Pidge left after _someone_ didn’t show. I decided to stick around. I will bet you anything that they’re inhaling energy drinks at this very moment.” Lance continued to ramble on about Pidge. Keith’s shoulder was mostly mobile at this point. Lance’s incessant babbling gave Keith plenty of opportunities to attack him, so he did just that.

**The song for this chapter is[‘Cease Fire!’ by Wrenn](https://youtu.be/THZdtHXn1Ok?t=63)! You don’t need to listen to it, but I just thought it kind of set the mood for this scene and it would be cool to listen to it while reading.**

Before Lance realized that Keith was no longer a safe distance away from him, Keith had him pinned against the wall, the flickering glow of the fire the only thing illuminating their faces. Lance glanced at the knife at his throat, cocking a well-maintained brow. “Bringing a knife to a gunfight?”

Keith glared at him, tilting his head.. “I don’t think you’re in any position to make smart remarks right now.” His eyes trailed down Lance’s cobalt-clad body, snapping back to Lance’s twinkling eyes. “You know what’s really been pissing me off?”

Lance hummed. “Hmm… My dashing good looks, perhaps? Or is it my charming personality?”

Keith’s glare somehow intensified. “The guy who tried to sell me used underwear half an hour ago had a better personality than you.” Lance gasped. Keith continued. “No, it’s not that. Your looks, however…”

“So I’m just too unbearably handsome for you? Aha! I knew it! My looks,” he preened, “transcend—” Lance was abruptly cut off by Keith’s hand smothering his mouth. 

“Shut up, will you? Gods, you're unbearable.” Lance let out a muffled ‘hey!’, but his protests were lost to the void that is Keith's hand. “You know what really bothers me?” Keith waited for a response, but all he got was Lance’s unimpressed gaze. Realizing that he was still covering Lance’s mouth, he cleared his throat. “Why the fuck are all of your suits blue? You’re an arsonist or some shit, right? You deal with fire which is like red and orange and yellow. _So why are all of your costumes blue?_ ” Keith was shouting at this point and had to take a few breaths to regain his composure. “I just find your choice in apparel really distracting and quite frankly, frustrating.” Keith let out a little yelp when Lance licked his hand, which he immediately pulled away. He edged his blade closer to Lance’s throat. “What the fuck, McClain?”

Lance grinned at Keith. “First of all, my suits are not costumes. They are creations; art, if you will.” He spared Keith a brief once-over. “And they’re a lot better looking than the long underwear that you’re wearing.” Keith opened his mouth to protest, but Lance wasn’t wrong. He was wearing clearance long underwear from Costgo. He had to admit that Lance’s costume didn’t look _horrible_ on him. “I have a blue complexion, okay? It accentuates my eyes and really works with my aura. Besides, red does not suit me.” He eyed Keith’s red cloak. “By the looks of it, it doesn’t suit you either.” This was a lie, and Lance knew it.

Keith gritted his teeth. “Fuck you, Lance.”

Lance chuckled. “At least buy me dinner first.”

Keith was definitely blushing at this point. “That’s not— you know that’s not what I meant.” He lightly pressed his blade against Lance’s throat. Lance eyed it nervously. “You seem to have forgotten the position you’re in right now. Less talking and more fighting, yeah?”

“If that’s how you want to play, so be it, Mullet.” In one swift, sweeping motion, Lance had both of Keith’s hands pinned against the wall, their positions flipped. He moved his face close to Keith’s ear and whispered in a low, husky voice, “Uno reverse card, bitch.”

“That,” Keith swung his legs up to pry Lance off of him, kicking him in the stomach, “was the lamest thing I have ever heard.” Keith was now straddling Lance, who was momentarily winded. He made a few attempts at a retort, but they just came out as wheezes. 

Eventually, he was able to get out a sentence. “If you hate my suit…” he panted, “... so much… why don’t you just… take it off?” He managed a weak grin.

Keith stared at Lance incredulously. “How are you still horny? Jesus Christ, I just kicked you in the gut and pulled a knife on you.” Lance eyed Keith, and Keith suddenly became aware of the position they currently were in. His face, much to his embarrassment, was becoming very warm. So was his back, he realized.

“Uh, knife boy? Your cloak is…”

“I get it, okay?” Keith snapped. “You think red is a bad colour for me. I actually don’t give a fuck about your opinion, though.”

“No, no, Keith—”

“Who are you to talk? What is that, spandex? You look like a fucking blueberry—”

“ _Keith, your cloak is on fire!_ ”

Keith whipped his head around to see that his cape was very much engulfed in flames. He cried out in alarm. The only thing he did about it was spew a string of curses.

“Stop drop and roll Keith. Stop drop and roll!”

Keith did no such thing, he just continued to freak out. Lance swore. If Keith didn’t get his act together soon, both he and Keith would be human torches. Mustering as much momentum as he could, he heaved himself on Keith and did his best to roll the two of him. By the time Keith’s flames were out, Lance was a panting mess. Keith was still kind of in shock. “What was that for, McClain?”

Lance pushed himself to his feet. “I,” he started, “just saved our lives.”

Keith still looked lost. Lance sighed. 

“I put out your fire.” He nodded towards the heap of fabric on the concrete. “I don’t think your cloak can be saved, however.”

Keith cursed. “That cost me a small fortune. I can’t afford to get a new one. Fuck.” 

Lance hummed in acknowledgement. “I understand just how important cloaks are.” He grinned at Keith. “I could make one for you, you know. A really cool red cloak with secret compartments and enough room for all of your knives”

Keith frowned at him. “And why would you do that?”

“Well, I would be expecting something in return, of course.”

Keith sighed. “Of course. Well, if it’s money you want, I can’t help you.”

“Oh, no. No, the rich pricks we just robbed will sustain us for a while.” He squatted down to peer at Keith. “What I want is information. I want to know what’s your deal with me. What your motives are.” He tilted his head. “I want to learn about the ever-so-elusive Red Paladin.”

Keith frowned at that. He was a pretty secretive guy, and he didn’t like opening up to others. Especially not with the likes of Lance McClain. He had to admit, however, that Lance’s cloak was really fucking nice. He also really liked the idea of having secret compartments. “I thought you said red didn’t look good on me?” What could he say? Keith was a weak man and a sucker for pockets.

Lance was already walking away from him. He paused, shrugged and glanced over his shoulder. “I lied.”

“Wait! You’re just going to leave? We’re in the middle of a fight!”

“Eh. This was a detour. You got lost. Besides, I’ve already committed my crime. I guess I’m just bored of you.” With those words, he vanished into the night. Keith was left behind, stunned. Lance’s ability to go from a flirtatious idiot to an apathetic villain genuinely frightened Keith. There was more to Lance than he was letting on.

Keith was going to figure him out.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> Screw Google, catch me surfing the web on Joogle. 
> 
> You made it to the second chapter! Thanks for sticking around, I seriously love you guys. 
> 
> 2020's made a hot mess of me, minus the hot. Like, I cut off a large chunk of my hair,,, but like,,, only on one side,, and now it’s just chillin. How’s everyone holding up? Turning to fanfiction to quell your loneliness and to quench your severe lack of representation? 
> 
> What if Klance was named Leith? Imagine how horrible that would be.
> 
> (Damn these notes are a mess, sorry guys. My brain’s all over the place)  
> 


End file.
